


as days fade, and nights grow

by endlessnighttimesky



Series: demolition lovers [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied Child Abuse, Implied Self-Harm, M/M, song!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnighttimesky/pseuds/endlessnighttimesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not what they want, hiding away in filthy motels, anonymous to everything and everyone except each other. It's not safety, it's not home, but it's <i>them</i>, so maybe it doesn't really matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as days fade, and nights grow

**Author's Note:**

> Hardly an original title, I know, but since Demolition Lovers is pretty much the base for this story (thus the tag "Song!Fic", although I'm not sure this story deserves it), I wanted a line from the song, and that one just fits perfectly.
> 
> So, if not already obvious, title is from _Demolition Lovers_ by MCR.
> 
> Also, I wrote this on my iPad, and my wireless keyboard doesn't allow using the English keyboard or it screws up the buttons, so everything has been manually spell-checked by me. My point is, if there are any errors, they're all mine (because I'm too lazy to post this from my laptop so I'm doing that on my iPad too).

Neither Frank nor Gerard remember how long it's been since they left.

The days bleed into each other, sunrises and sunsets forgotten almost as soon as they happen. Everything is a blur of gas station coffee and empty cigarette packets, time just as fleeting as the smoke blending with the gray sky above.

Gerard is driving right now, staring down a nearly empty highway as cities fly past, pinpricks of light on the horizon. He's had enough coffee to feel awake, even though the moon is shining down on them and has been for a while. Then again, he supposes he's always been sort of nocturnal.

Frank, on the other hand, is sleeping in the passenger seat, back against the door and cheek pressed against the backrest. He looks so tiny and vulnerable, curled up under the blanket and with hair falling in his face. It makes Gerard want to kiss his forehead and tuck him in, in a real bed, like he would've done if they'd stayed. If they hadn't run away.

He feels guilty, in a way, for taking Frank away like this, for distancing him from his home and his family, everything he's ever known. But at the same time, he knows it's the right thing to do, the right thing for him, for Frank, for _them_. If they would've stayed, who knows if they would still be alive. This is their chance, their one and only shot at getting away, at creating something else for themselves, a life without cruel words and never-ending beatings.

They deserve something better, something without split lips and broken noses, scarred arms and tearstained cheeks. It's hard to see sometimes, when the nighttime sky seems endless overhead and every streetlight is broken, but they still know it, know it's true.

"How long 'til Chicago?"

Frank's question startles Gerard out of his thoughts, making him look over at the boy beside him.

"Didn't know you were awake," Gerard says, voice soft and low. "And, um, about two hundred miles, I think."

"Okay," Frank says, stretching in his seat, cracking is neck and spine. "You want to sleep?"

"Yeah," Gerard admits, yawning at the mere mention of sleep, eyelids are feeling dangerously heavy. "There should be a gas station in a mile or two, I'll pull over and we can switch."

"Okay," Frank says again, rearranging his pillow and blanket, throwing the first into the backseat and draping the latter over his crossed legs. He's quiet for a while before he asks, "Does Pete know we're coming?

Gerard nods as he indicates a right turn. "Yeah. Apparently he's got this friend - well, he called him his soulmate, but whatever. Either way, his name is Patrick, and he lives with a guy called Bob, and they've got a room they can spare. We can stay there until we find something."

"Okay," Frank says a third time, voice still flat.

Gerard looks over at him again, feeling the worry pull tight around his eyes. "Frankie," he says, catching Frank's attention. "You alright?"

"There's a motel by the gas station," Frank says. No, then.

§ § §

The parking lot is practically deserted when they arrive, flickering sodium lamps tinting everything golden. Only a few cars are parked, most of them just as beat-up and rusty as Gerard's silvery Subaru, but there's a slick-looking Cadillac parked in a corner, almost disappearing into the shadows. So it's that kind of place, then.

The gas station, on the other hand, sits obnoxiously on the other side of the parking lot, bright lights blinding against the blackness of the sky above. They completely drain Frank's face of color as Gerard drives past, chasing away every shadow except the ones beneath his eyes.

Gerard parks close to the entrance of the motel, wanting to put as little distance as possible between them and whatever room they'll end up in, because his limbs are starting to feel heavy and he's pretty sure Frank has fallen asleep again.

"Frankie," he says as he twists the key in the ignition, engine dying with a huff. Frank groans and mumbles something inaudible. Definitely asleep.

"Frankie," Gerard says again. He grabs the bag from the backseat before he gets out, walking around the car to Frank's side, pulling open the door with a screech.

Frank stumbles a little when he gets out, but Gerard is there with an arm around his waist and his lips pressed to Frank's temple, whispering, "Come on, baby, let's get you into bed."

Frank mumbles something incoherent and nuzzles into Gerard's neck as they walk inside, leaning on him while he gets them a room and dragging his feet behind him as the navigate the hallways in search for room 627.

Gerard almost expects Frank to drop down on the bed as soon as they get inside, because he looks like he'll fall over in a matter of seconds if the doesn't get horizontal right about now. But Frank is still Frank, no matter how exhausted he is, so when the tiny, "Spiders, Gee," escapes his lips, Gerard dutifully walks over to the bed and pulls off the covers, leaving Frank standing by the door with his arms wrapped around himself as if a stray tarantula will attack him at a moment's notice.

"No spiders," Gerard says once he's shook the covers, throwing them back onto the bed before walking over to Frank. He slips an arm around his waist again, and brings one hand up to stroke Frank's hair out of his face, letting it rest on his cheek once the unruly strands are trapped behind his ear.

"You okay?" he asks, trying to get a look into Frank's downcast eyes.

"Just tired," Frank mumbles, fatigue slurring his words. "Wanna sleep."

"Okay," Gerard says, hands trailing down to the hem of Frank's t-shirt, gripping it and pulling it over his head. He unbuttons and unzips Frank's jeans, letting them fall down his skinny hips as Frank toes off his Converse and socks. Gerard does the same and eventually they're both in their pajamas, Frank bare-chested and with a pair of gray sweatpants hanging off his hips, and Gerard in a ratty band shirt and a pair of washed-out Batman pajama pants, entangled in each other between the sheets in the bed.

"Love you," Frank mumbles into Gerard's chest, but by the time Gerard says it back, he's already asleep.

§ § §

When Frank wakes up, it's to the sound of falling rain and the smell of fresh coffee. He blinks, one, two, three times, trying to orientate himself, before he remembers. The motel. Gerard dragging him through the corridors because he was too tired to stand up by himself. Gerard checking the bed for spiders, a thousandth time, and undressing him, just as often. Burying themselves under the covers, wrapped up in each other. Yeah. He remembers, now.

Upon opening his eyes, he's treated to the sight of Gerard's smiling face, eyes sleepy but bright. He's sitting cross-legged on his side of the bed, comic book open in his lap and coffee in his hand, another steaming cup sitting on the nightstand behind him.

"Hi," he says, smiling brightly, once he notices that Frank is awake.

"Hi," Frank says, voice morning-rough and hoarse. He pushes himself up a little, leaning against the headboard as he extends his arm, fingers brushing the back of Gerard's hand. 

''Feeling better?" Gerard asks, taking Frank's hand in his and stroking his thumb over the back of it, rubbing small circles into the skin.

Frank hums an answer, smiling and tugging at Gerard's hand. "C'mere."

Gerard grins and pushes his comic book out of the way, setting down his coffee on the nightstand beside Frank's, before knee-walking across the bed to straddle Frank's lap, hands instantly moving up to cup Frank's face.

They kiss slowly, lips moving against each other at a leisurely pace, soft and sweet. Gerard's mouth is warm with the taste of coffee, last night's cigarette smoky beneath the bitterness. His skin is smooth beneath Frank's calloused fingers, pale and unspoiled, not littered with scars and ink like Frank's.

Digging his fingers into the softness around Gerard's waist, Frank cherishes it, like a treasure you could never put a price on, never let yourself get rid of. Never  _want_ to get rid of. That's Gerard. Someone Frank doesn't ever want to lose, because he knows he wouldn't pull through if he did. If Gerard disappeared... that would be the end of Frank, too. They're nothing without each other.

"Coffee's getting cold," Gerard mumbles when they part to breathe, lips still brushing Frank's.

"Don't care," Frank says, fingertips fluttering over the skin beneath Gerard's jaw, coaxing him closer. Gerard goes willingly, as always, leaning in that last fraction of an inch, and then they're kissing again, hands roaming under fabric and across skin, restless fingertips tracing faded scars and marks visible to just the two of them.

It's not what they want, hiding away in filthy motels, anonymous to everything and everyone except each other. It's not safety, it's not home, but it's _them_ , so maybe it doesn't really matter.

Or maybe this is exactly what home means, what safety means - having someone beside you who loves you unconditionally, no matter your failures and wrongs, everything you think but don't dare let escape your lips, because that person _knows_ , even when you're sitting silent in the corner of the couch, arms wrapped around your legs as if that could protect you from all the horrors of the world.

Yeah, Frank is pretty sure, that must be the definition of home, because he doesn't feel like he's anywhere else when he's in Gerard's arms.


End file.
